


sakura, sakura (fragrant in the morning sun)

by openframes



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2014-2015 Off Season, Complicated Relationships, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Romantic Friendship, and yuzu is wearing javi's clothes, in which javier is homesick and misses simpler times, knife shoes appreciation society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openframes/pseuds/openframes
Summary: Yuzuru’s eyes fly open. The sunlight streaming in through the windows behind him catches his silhouette like a halo when he smiles, gentle and warm, and Javier’s breath catches in his throat. Yuzu looks pretty this way, cheeks flushed, Javier’s boxers slipping down his hip, sweater dishevelled, loose threads everywhere.





	sakura, sakura (fragrant in the morning sun)

It’s raining outside.

Javier squints out into the darkness, trying to remember when the next bus comes and wondering whether it’s worth it to wait another half an hour to get home, or whether he should just brave the rain as he is. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls out, long and mournful.

“Javi? Are you going home?”

Yuzuru has finally finished changing, and together they stand at TCC’s front doors, looking out at the night.

“Yeah, I guess. I don't really feel like waiting for the next bus.” He looks sideways at Yuzu, who’s chewing on his lip, not making eye contact. “What? You wanna come over?”

Yuzu raises his gaze. “Can I? Just until - just until the rain stop?”

Javier has a feeling the rain is not going to stop anytime soon. “Sure, _nene_. Let’s go.”

“You always call me that,” Yuzu says as they push open the doors and walk out into humid Toronto air. “What it mean?”

Raindrops splatter Javier’s skin, cool and wet on his neck and arms. “What, _nene_?” _Baby boy. Baby._ Something you’d call a lover, a friend. Someone younger than you, someone familiar. Something Javi’s madre used to call him when he was little. “I guess it’s kinda like the Spanish equivalent of kiddo. You know how Canadians call everyone kiddo?”

Yuzuru doesn’t say anything, just looks at Javier and smiles. He sings under his breath as they walk, a haunting melody that camouflages itself in the rain and makes Javier’s hair stand on end. He’s sure he’s heard it before, a long time ago, somewhere far far away. _Sakura sakura, yayoi no sora wa…_

It never rains in Madrid, not like it does here in Toronto. Madrid in summertime is always sunny and hot, the sky so blue and empty of clouds Javier’s eyes hurt thinking about it. Toronto summertime is fleeting and ephemeral, sunny one day and stormy the next; you never know what you’re going to get.

 _Like Yuzuru_. Javier wonders if it ever gets lonely sometimes, to be a blue sky and a thunderstorm at the same time. He wonders if Yuzuru ever wishes he could just pick one.

 

* * *

 

When Javier opens his eyes, it’s morning, and sunlight streams in butter yellow through the curtains. He lies still for a long while, breathing in the scent of summer, listening to the birds sing outside, and smiles. Breathes. Listens. Off season has been good to him. Yuzuru has been good to him.

 _Yuzuru_. Javier’s fingers tighten over the bedsheets. Yuzu’s clothes have appeared folded up neatly on top of the dresser, but their owner is nowhere to be found. The other side of the bed has been made just as primly as the t-shirt and sweats lying on his dresser. Javier reaches over and the sheets are smooth, cold, empty of any evidence that another body had lain there next to him last night, breathing and listening just as he did. That warm fingers had touched his arm and cold feet had pressed against his calves, seeking comfort in someone familiar.

Javier allows himself another moment of solitude before getting up and drawing the curtains. The sun floods the room suddenly, and he can see dust motes dancing languidly in the air. Time slows to a gentle trickle. Javier can’t remember summer in Toronto ever feeling so much like summertime in Madrid. Like orange and red ice lollies in the park with Laura. Like his madre’s homemade sangria. Like home.

A sudden crash on the other side of the wall jolts him out of his stupor. Time resumes its usual pace. Madrid is four thousand miles away. Javier heads into the living room to investigate, tugging on a pair of shorts as he goes.

Yuzu is standing next to the couch in Javier’s clothes, shaking his hand as if it is in great pain, eyes closed, mouth forming an O for _ouch_.

“Yuzu? What the hell are you doing?”

Yuzuru’s eyes fly open. The sunlight streaming in through the windows behind him catches his silhouette like a halo when he smiles, gentle and warm, and Javier’s breath catches in his throat. Yuzu looks pretty this way, cheeks flushed, Javier’s boxers slipping down his hip, sweater dishevelled, loose threads everywhere. Javier’s chest feels tight.

“Sorry,” Yuzu says, tugging the sweater back up over his shoulder. It slides down again, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Image training. My hand -” He motions to the wall, pulls a face “- hit the… the…” He trails off, as if searching for the right word. Javier tries not to smile.

“Image training, Yuzu? It’s June. It’s -” He squints at the clock on the wall “- sometime in the morning. You’re allowed to relax now, _nene._ ”

Yuzuru opens his mouth, presumably to argue, to run his mouth for an hour about how practice is important, quads are important, _winning_ is important - “Silver isn’t good enough, Javi!” - and usually Javier would let him, but it’s June, it’s sometime in the morning, and gold medals can wait.

“C’mon, you skeleton.” He reaches over and fixes Yuzu’s sweater. “Let’s make breakfast.” 

Yuzu can’t cook, so he rests his head on the countertop and watches Javier scramble the eggs, dark eyes sleepy and content. The two of them settle into an easy banter as Javier bustles around the kitchen, Yuzu waxing on in broken English about the taste of _tamago kake gohan_ and what a shame it is that the production quality of eggs in Canada is so low that he can’t have it nearly as much as he’d like to. Javier listens, pretending not to care, but the truth is, he misses this. He misses the way they used to talk about anything, everything, nothing, the way Yuzu would run up to him after training and beg Javier to take him out to the ice cream parlour nearby because his mother was out of town that day. He misses being able to ruffle Yuzu’s hair without a second thought, or pinch his cheeks because Yuzu was just such a cute little kid, all awkward skinny limbs and toothy smiles.

But the Olympics changed things, and so did Worlds. It’s hard being friends with Javier when he loses, he knows this, but it’s even harder to be friends with Yuzuru when it’s no longer him with the gold medal around his neck but Javier. One day Javier woke up and Yuzu was thousands of miles away from him, his toothy grin gone, replaced by distant eyes and polite, unfeeling smiles. Yuzuru was somewhere far away.

He doesn’t look quite so much like a kid anymore.

Yuzuru picks at his breakfast. “Javi,” he says, putting down his chopsticks. _Who the hell eats scrambled eggs with chopsticks?_

Javier eyes him. “Yeah?”

“Can I see your Worlds medal?”

“What, you’re not gonna steal it, are you?”

A pout. “No.”

 _Dios mío._ “Yuzu, we’re eating breakfast right now. I know you’re hungry for gold but your crazy obsession with my Worlds medal can wait till later, can’t it?”

“Please?”

“Oh my God, dude, you’re so lucky Brian would kill me if I murdered you.” He puts down his fork and follows Yuzu, who is out of his chair in an instant, back into the bedroom.

It’s eleven o’clock and the walls are no longer golden but their usual shade of white. Javier can’t see the dust motes in the air anymore. He goes to his medal case on the dresser and takes out his Worlds medal, gleaming and golden and infinitely heavy in his hands. _Javier Fernández, World Champion_. The words still taste funny on his tongue. When he looks in the mirror above the dresser he does not see Javier Fernández, World Champion. He sees Javier Fernández, the guy who lost the Olympic bronze medal by the tips of his fingers. Javier Fernández, who could not podium when it mattered the most.

“Turn around,” he says to Yuzu.

Yuzu obeys, eyes wide in the mirror as he watches Javier place the medal gently around his neck and over his chest. Javier is taller, but in that moment he feels infinitely small next to this kid, this stupid skinny kid with broken English and an intensity that never wanes. His hands linger. He wants, just for one moment, one fleeting, painful moment, to take Yuzuru’s halo and borrow it for himself. How does it feel? He just wants to know, if only for a moment.

“It feels heavy,” Yuzuru whispers.

_Your halo?_

“The medal.”

 _Oh._ Javier smiles ruefully. “I bet your OGM is heavier.”

They are silent for a moment, still and unmoving, like statues in a stone garden. Then Yuzu turns, slowly, deliberately, away from the mirror to face Javier. He reaches out to touch Javier’s chest, his neck, fingers dancing over the invisible outline of a missing bronze medal. Yuzuru smells like Javier’s shampoo, Javier’s fabric softener. His hands shake, and his eyes are huge like twin black moons, sweet and scared, so Javier closes his eyes and lets himself welcome Yuzu’s touch, if only for a moment.

Yuzu’s trembling hands make their way to his face, his hair. _Only a moment_. Javier opens his eyes. He takes Yuzuru’s wrists, gentle but firm. His chest hurts.  

“That’s not a good idea, Yuzu,” he says.

Yuzuru bites his lip. On a normal day, he’d leave sullenly, close the door quietly behind him, and the next morning at training Javier would arrive to find him storming up and down the ice, hair a mess, eyes ablaze with something that hurts Javier to think about. He would throw himself into the air, suspended somewhere in the stratosphere, and Javier would watch, breathless, as he crashed back down to earth a second later, bruises already forming on his elbows and knees, no longer Yuzuru Hanyu, the skinny kid with the Pooh bear but Yuzuru Hanyu, Olympic champion. The man to beat. The boy who feels too much or nothing at all, who lives and breathes and skates with more intensity than anyone Javier has ever met. Who falls only because he jumps, and gets up and screams and jumps again. Yuzuru. Yuzu. _Nene_.

Today is sunny and bright and warm, and dust motes dance in the air, unseen but there. Madrid feels closer somehow. Today is not a normal day.

Yuzuru pulls his wrists slowly from Javier’s grip. His smile comes just as slow, just as soft.

“OK,” he says. He takes off the medal and cradles it in his hands, places it reverently back in Javier’s medal case. He looks so sweet, so achingly much like the seventeen year-old who first arrived Toronto three years ago, that Javier is almost fooled into thinking that the bruises on Yuzuru’s knees have already disappeared. “Let’s go finish breakfast.”

The rest of breakfast is a peaceful affair. Effie occasionally pops in and rubs up against Javier’s or Yuzuru’s leg, but for the most part it is silent and blissful and Javier wouldn’t wish for anything else.

After, when they are both finished and Javier has deposited the dishes in the sink to be cleaned later, they laze together on the couch with Yuzuru on one end and Javier on the other, Yuzu’s feet in Javier’s lap, flicking through TV channels and basking in the warmth of the sun. Javier keeps suggesting for Yuzu to fix his sweater and put on a pair of pants so they can go outside, but Yuzu only nudges Javier with his toe and murmurs his disapproval at this idea.

“Did you fold up your clothes this morning while I was asleep?” Javier says after a moment. “I saw them on the dresser when I woke up.”

Yuzuru flips to another channel. “Yeah.”

“Why? I mean, you could have just put them in your bag.” _Or changed into them._ “They were dry, weren’t they?”

The two of them had walked home from the Cricket Club in the rain last night, trying to spot any stars in the night sky, laughing when rain got in their eyes and on their tongues. When they got back to Javier’s apartment it was late, and Yuzu hummed in the shower as Javier tossed their soaked clothes into the washing machine. He emerged from the bathroom in the clothes Javier had let him borrow, the same song still on his lips. _Sakura, sakura, noyamamo sato mo, miwatasu kagiri..._

Yuzuru sits up. “I - I’m thinking - maybe I sleep over tonight too?” His eyes are so hopeful, and something about his expression, so open and guileless, makes Javier’s breath hitch.

“Yuzu… You already slept over last night…” _Next to me. With your feet between my legs, and I let you because you were cold from the rain._

Javier let him because he wants desperately to give Yuzu what he wants, always, and that was the closest thing. But one night is already dangerous territory, and two… Two will end with Javier trying to let Yuzu down the gentlest he can in the morning, and failing when he walks into practice an hour later to see Yuzu with new bruises on his knees and elbows. Two will end with Yuzuru shattering himself upon the ice, and Javier can’t do that to Yuzu, can’t deal with it. Not right now.

He doesn’t say this to Yuzuru, who is wearing Javier’s sweater and Javier’s underwear, who smells like Javier and sits on Javier’s couch with his feet in Javier’s lap. Yuzuru is not seventeen anymore, no matter how hard Javier wishes he still was. Things will never be easy between them, not like they used to be.

Javier takes Yuzu’s hand and musters the best smile he can. “C’mon. Let’s go get ice cream, _nene_.”

Yuzu stares at him for a long, long second, and Javier is half afraid he might get up and leave as he has so many times before, but then his eyes soften and he smiles back. “OK. But I need to change pants first. Just give me a minute.”

He disappears into the bedroom. When he returns, the afternoon sun catches him strong, and Javier swallows. Yuzuru looks so young with the afternoon light setting the edges of his dark hair ablaze that when Javier closes his eyes, he can almost see that skinny seventeen year-old grinning toothily at the ice cream parlour once again, if only just for a moment.

_… Kasumi ka kumo ka, asahi ni niou…_

**Author's Note:**

> {1} The song Yuzuru sings is called Sakura, Sakura, a very famous Japanese folk song from the Edo period. My mom used to sing the Chinese version to me when I was a kid.
> 
> Sakura sakura, yayoi no sora wa - cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms, across the spring sky  
> Sakura, sakura, noyamamo sato mo, miwatasu kagiri - cherry blossoms, cherry blossoms, blanketing the countryside  
> Kasumi ka kumo ka, asahi ni niou - is it mist, or is it a cloud? Shining in the morning light
> 
> {2} Nene means baby boy in Spanish, and it can be used between lovers as in “babe” or “baby”, but it can also kind of mean kiddo, as Javier said. I don't speak Spanish, though, and the friend I asked about it speaks Mexican Spanish, so I’m not 100% if it’s used in the same ways in European Spanish. I wonder which one Javi means in this fic, baby or kiddo? 
> 
> {3} Tamago kake gohan is raw egg mixed with rice, a popular meal in Japan that’s often eaten for breakfast. I’ve had it before, but like Yuzu said, eggs in Canada aren’t pretreated to be eaten raw like they are in Japan, so uhh I don't have it often either because salmonella. I don't know about Yuzuru, but as a Chinese-Canadian I eat literally everything with chopsticks, even scrambled eggs lmao


End file.
